


Imperfectly Formed, Half Understood, Poorly Remembered

by N7_Jam



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Abbey of the Everyman, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Corvo gets his Mark back after D2, Corvo the Kleptomaniac, Crack, Cult of the Outsider, Dishonored 2 Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Post-Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, Rat Plague | The Doom of Pandyssia, Return of the Masked Felon, Secret Identity, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N7_Jam/pseuds/N7_Jam
Summary: The Royal Protector unwillingly stumbles back in time.  Corvo's not especially pleased to have everything he's worked for erased, but he's not terribly willing to allow events to unfold how they did previously either.  Dunwall will not have another Child Empress - he'll make sure of it.





	1. Probably not good

**Author's Note:**

> Just finished Dishonored 2 and DLC. Was immediately assaulted by plot bunnies. Enjoy the result.

Corvo’s body came to awareness grudgingly, joints stiff with cold and achy in protest. Bleary brown eyes tentatively slit open, the dim light of the sun stabbing into his brain mercilessly. A low groan escaped past gritted teeth at the throbbing pressure behind his eyes. Gloved hands clumsy with fatigue fumbled to ease the pain behind his sockets, only to catch on the jagged edges of his mask instead. Corvo froze, mind still hazy with exhaustion. Why was he wearing his mask?

Surging adrenaline burned through the remaining cobwebs in his head and he jackknifed into a sitting position, clutching miserably at his head as it swam at the sudden motion. The tipoff from Lurk. The warning she’d sent to Emily about some Void-cursed cult. Corvo had been sent out to investigate them, to evaluate the threat they posed to Gristol and deal with them as necessary.  He’d tracked them all the way back to Shindaerey North Quarry before things had gone…strange.

A familiar prickle along the length of his spine had Corvo’s eyes widening in shock. The ringing in his ears, a distant song he never quite caught. The insidious whispers crawling through his brain. Even with his disorientation, it shouldn’t have taken him so long to notice. He was in the Void. But how –

“Hello Corvo,” The Outsider drawled.

Slowly, Corvo lifted his head, masked face upturned as he took in the figure lounging before him. Unfathomable black eyes caught and held his gaze unflinchingly.  Corvo’s breath caught in his chest.

Lurk’s missive had claimed the Outsider to be dead and gone. With Corvo and Emily’s Marks dead on their hands, and the lack of summons to the Void, the Spymaster had been inclined to believe her.

He should have known better.  The Outisider was not someone to be defeated so easily.  Corvo studiously ignored the faint stirring of relief in his chest as he took in the blank-faced deity.  He’d never admit it, but Corvo’d been something very close to grieved at the news of the Outsider’s demise. 

“You’re not dead,” he rasped, a questioning lilt to the statement.

One of the Outsider’s eyebrows ticked up. “Debatable” he responded, as infuriatingly vague as always.  The corners of Corvo’s mouth twitched in a wan attempt at a smile.  Some things never changed.

“Why am I here?” Corvo asked bluntly.  Subtlety was neither useful nor satisfying when it came to the recalcitrant god, especially not with his head throbbing in muted agony.  No, better to go for the more direct route – who knows, he might just get an actual answer for once.

“Why are any of us here, Corvo?”  And instead of an answer, he gets a question – typical. 

“Well, you’re definitely you.  Never met another soul that had your way with words.”  Corvo snorted, one hand still pressed to his head to alleviate the pressure.

The Outsider’s face didn’t so much as twitch, but Corvo knew he was amused - maybe even a little taken aback.  It was odd.  Corvo wasn’t even sure if the deity was _capable_ of surprise.  Perhaps he’d just imagined it.

“You claim familiarity with me, wear the shadow of my Mark on your hand, yet I do not know you,” black eyes narrowed as Corvo’s mind went blank with bewilderment. 

“I can see all tomorrows, and I know that you play a pivotal role in several of them.  But you should not be here _today_.”  The Outsider tilted his head, oil-slick eyes piercing Corvo to the quick.  “It doesn’t matter why you’re here, Corvo.  All that matters is what you’ll do now that you _are_.”

“What?”  Corvo stared at the deity dully, equal parts exasperation and frustration audible in his tone.  His amusement at the deity’s usual obfuscation was quickly wearing thin.

Corvo got the distinct impression the god was smirking at him. “You’re something new – unexpected.  Everything is changing even as we speak.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”  Corvo determinedly kept from flinching back as the Outsider leaned down into his space.  Liquid black eyes drew him in, drowned him in darkness. “I will return you to your world now, but know that I will be watching with  _great interest_.”

Without further ado, Corvo found himself wrenched back into reality, the Mark burning on his hand for the first time in almost a year. 

What the fuck was going on?

* * *

 

Corvo had been lucky none of the cultists were in the area when he reappeared back in the quarry. Maybe it was a curtesy of the Outsider, but Corvo had never been put anywhere immediately dangerous when tossed out of the Void.  Small mercies. 

The unease he’d felt at the Outsider’s words did not dissipate in the real world.  Maybe it was him, but everything felt just so slightly…off.

There was no trace of the ritual he’d stupidly barged in on.  He downed an elixir for his head and fled the room quickly, looking for a way out, a chance to clear his head and _think_.  The Outsider’s words looped through his head as the feeling of not-right only grew stronger. 

Corvo idly noted several strange details as he snuck back through the base.  From what he could tell, the number of cultists out had decreased dramatically compared to when he’d first made his way through.  The bodies of his missing agents had vanished as well, with not so much as a bloodstain to mark where they’d lain.  Most concerning of all, however, was the fact that the camp he and his people had established a safe distance from the quarry had disappeared. Even with his newly returned Dark Vision, all Corvo had been able to spot was a couple of prowling wolfhounds in the distance.  There were no other signs of life.

How long had he been stuck in the Void?  Surely it hadn’t been long enough for all traces of his team’s presence to vanish.

Regardless of his concerns, it was getting dark out and he had a lot of information to consolidate and analyze.  He quickly built himself a small fire and settled down against a broken wall that blocked the wind to think as the warmth of the fire began to seep into his battered muscles. It didn’t do much to stop his older scars from flaring up in pain, but he’d long ago learned to take small victories where he could find them.

Now moderately comfortable and shielded from the biting cold, Corvo painstakingly began to sort out everything that had happened up until he’d woken up in the Void with a supposedly dead god.

He’d been investigating the Eyeless gang off and on for some time before Lurk had unintentionally brought them to the forefront of his attention with her message to Emily. After months of digging, he’d connected them to an Outsider cult operating out of the Shindaerey North Quarry and taken a group of imperial scouts up to investigate them with Emily’s blessing. Without exception, every agent Corvo had sent to scout the cultists had either disappeared or come back to camp raving and insensible. Unwilling to risk more of his people, Corvo had decided to go in himself.

That was the part where his memories became fuzzy. There had been some sort of…energy permeating the stronghold. Like the Void, but less stable, more hostile and deceptive. Now that he was away from its influence, he could see how it had compromised his judgment, made him sloppy and reckless. A chill crawled down his spine.  For him to have been so out of it, and to not even notice…

But he’d ignored the feeling and continued onward. He recalled snatches of broken bodies and profane rituals, twisted creatures of stone and fury. An empty Void, waiting to be filled. Something about not letting the Outsider go?  And then Corvo had barged in on some sort of ritual and woken up in the Void, where he’d been stuck long enough that everything around him had changed.  After all that talk of tomorrows and todays – it was more than a bit concerning.

The Serkonan knew when he was in over his head.  His agents were gone and he had no way of finding them – he was alone.  He needed to retreat, to report his findings to Emily and come up with another plan of attack.  The Outsider was alive, and there was something very, very wrong with this cult.

* * *

 

It was weeks before Corvo managed to make his way back to civilization. He didn’t think he’d been this happy to see the surging crowds of Cullero since before – well,  _before_.

He walked the streets with his mask tucked inside his coat and took no effort to hide his face except for an upturned collar. Not that he was overly concerned about being recognized. His face hadn’t been well known among the general populace for over fifteen years and bore little resemblance to his old and outdated wanted posters now.

Corvo quickly set about replenishing his dwindling food stores and other supplies from the various stalls lining the streets. He even managed to haggle for a nice pack of cigars to be thrown into the mix, to his delight.  He’d have to make sure to hide them from Emily when he got back, the little brat was always sneaking into his stashes – like mother like daughter he supposed. Satisfactorily restocked, he then meandered his way over to the docks where he could purchase passage back to Dunwall, idly snagging an unattended newspaper on his way over. But a single glance at the headlines had him stumbling to a stop in the middle of the busy street.

It wasn’t the article that caught his attention so much as the date. Clearly printed in the upper right corner of the front page was the year 1835 in the month of Clans.

Corvo didn’t know how long he stood staring dumbly at that damn date. He was abruptly brought back to himself by the rough and irritated shoving of the crowd and quickly made his way to the nearest newsstand to double and triple check what his eyes were telling him. Surely it was a misprint, or an old copy someone had left lying around. Emily had spoken to him of her experiences at Stilton’s manor, but that had been under extenuating circumstances and a fifteen-year change was a great deal more than three. Corvo couldn’t possibly have experienced something as world shattering as time travel without even noticing, could he? 

But the Void touched all places and times, and Corvo still had no idea what the Cult of the Outsider had been attempting when he’d bungled up their little ritual. He’d woken up in the Void at the edge of reality and the Outsider claimed not to know him, said he shouldn’t be here. To make it worse, every copy of the day’s paper he got his hands on only confirmed his growing suspicion.

Corvo had landed himself in the past.

 


	2. Sinking in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up a fair bit more angsty than I'd intended.

The rest of the day passed in something of a daze with Corvo only surfacing from the fog in his head in disjointed breaks. His hands had trembled at the whispers in the streets of unease and sickness growing across the water in Dunwall, Burrow’s plague barely even out of its infancy and already starting rumors in the neighboring Isles. He could scarcely believe that half the population of the capital would be dead in a little over a year due to a single man’s machinations. And Empress Jessamine ( _alive_ ) yet reigned, unaware of the fatal conspiracy growing within her midst.

Corvo came back to himself in a dilapidated and abandoned apartment where he’d hunkered down for the night while his body was on automatic. There’d even been a ratty mattress for him to use and catch a decent night of rest. After nearly a month in the wilderness it was more than welcome, regardless of smells and suspicious stains; he didn’t bounce back from sleeping on the cold, hard ground as quickly as he used to.

But sleep did nothing to stop his chaotically spinning thoughts, the condemning murmurs echoing in the back of his head.

If he was stuck here, what did that mean for his time?

His Emily, his life, his daughter – a woman grown, the Empress of the Isles, beautiful, strong, capable. With every day that’d passed, he could see more and more of her mother in her. He’d been by her side every step of the way watching her grow and become a person in her own right.

“ _You’ve lost another Empress_.” The Outsider had whispered in his ear as Emily was dragged away by Delilah’s allies, his body stone and utterly useless. Corvo had never stopped to think (more like he couldn’t bear the thought) that it would happen a third time, let alone so soon. By the Void, it had barely been more than a year since the witch’s coup.

Now here he was, _a failure_ , once again torn from his Empress, his  _family_.  Half-hysterically, he wondered if any previous Royal Protector could claim to have failed their charges as many times as he had while still retaining their title. He choked out a bitter laugh at the thought, eyes dead and empty.  

His Empress, his clever Emily was gone, reduced to a girl-child not even ten years old across the water.  And the child would not know him - no one would.  The people he knew, the relationships he’d treasured – it was all just memories in his head now.

Out of everything he’d endured over the years he knew this would be the thing to break him, for his daughter to look into his eyes and see nothing but a stranger staring back. No, he wouldn’t be paying any visits to Dunwall Tower anytime soon. Not if he could help it.

But what use was a Royal Protector without his charge?

The question went unanswered as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

 

Corvo opened his eyes to a half-built ceiling through which he could glimpse the jagged islets of the Void as they idled through oblivion. Stubborn and drained, he remained where he’d lain down to rest and let his mind wander as the leviathans undulated across the sky. Eventually, he found his view blocked by a set of all-too-familiar eyes. Corvo frowned as he attempted to focus past the Outsider’s judging gaze, displeased at the disturbance. He was unsurprised when the deity took his lack of response as an invitation to speak anyway.

“You see now where you are.  _When_  you are. You thought your story close to an end only to find yourself back at the beginning. All your work, the impact you left on the world, gone – except for you.” Reluctantly, Corvo’s eyes slid to meet the Outsider’s, face twisting in furious despair.

The apparition crossed his arms, brow wrinkled thoughtfully.  Unlike the scheming nobles of Dunwall’s court, the god was disappointingly undeterred by Corvo’s accusing silence. “There’s no way back, Corvo. Once again, you’ve been anchored in the advancing trudge of time.”

Corvo’s heart constricted painfully at the admission – the Outsider never lied. Was everything he knew truly lost to him? He watched, drained, as the deity began to pace. “What will you do now, I wonder? What ending will you make for yourself in this steadily drowning world? I can’t say you strike a terribly impressive figure right now, laid out like an invalid. But the waters are rising, regardless. You’d better hurry.” His piece said, the Outsider dissolved into inky black shadows that dispersed into the Void.

Corvo gasped as he woke up on the mattress, clutching futilely at his frantically beating heart. His worst fears had been confirmed.

“Bloody, black-eyed bastard!” He snarled lowly, hands clammy with cold sweat.

His world was gone.

* * *

 

It was some time before Corvo was in a state to process the rest of what the Outsider had said to him, but he was no stranger to grief and how deadly it could be to let his mind linger. He’d always found the best stopgap solution to be throwing himself into his work until he was too tired to think – to lock up the paralytic misery and anguish before it took root in his very bones. Focus on the practical, the rational and save the mess for a better time (or never). He couldn’t afford to hesitate now, an outsider in a hostile time.

Corvo had arrived at the brink of Dunwall’s first collapse. In just under two years, Jessamine would be assassinated and Delilah would be planning…something (something that had apparently involved Daud according to the Outsider, and wasn’t that a terrifying prospect?). Everything had eventually turned out mostly fine – if he ignored how his heart had felt like it was being torn from his chest the day his love bled out under that perfect sky and their daughter was dragged away screaming, bright white dress splattered with her mother’s blood – but it wasn’t precisely something Corvo was enthused about allowing to happen again.

Above all else, he was still the Royal Protector and a father. Whether his loved ones knew him or not, he would keep them safe.  They were still his, even if he wasn’t theirs.

Jessamine would not be killed. Dunwall would not have another Child Empress. He wouldn’t allow it. 

He refused to have Emily’s childhood cut short once again by the swing of an assassin’s bloody blade.

Of course, that left Corvo with the problem of how to carry out said declaration. He couldn’t exactly waltz up to the Empress and spill his guts to her – okay, maybe he could. Corvo could absolutely approach Jessamine directly and explain himself.

But Jessamine already had her family. She had their beautiful daughter and a devoted lover more likely to strike him down than hear out the pleas of a half-mad heretic. And honestly, Corvo couldn’t bear the thought of trespassing upon their close-knit family anyway. Outsider’s eyes, how would they even react to him - a bitter and broken old man?

What’s more…Jessamine, his Jess, was sixteen years dead and Corvo had long since made his peace with it.  If he kept telling himself that, maybe it would even be true someday.  Jess was a young face immortalized on canvas in the Tower, a lonely headstone and familiar sword to keep him company on the bad days. She was the wisp of smoke at the end of his cigar, fleeting and indistinct, a half-remembered scent on the wind. A bloodless heart of gears and flesh that beat in time with the throbbing beneath his breast.

He wouldn’t know what to do with a true flesh and blood manifestation.

However, there was one marked benefit to having Jessamine alive even if he couldn’t interact with her directly. The Empress was experienced, politically savvy and ruthless when the situation called for it. So long as she was warned ahead of time and presented with significant evidence to implicate Burrows and his conspirators of treason, there would be no need for Corvo to resort to his more extreme methods from before.  Not that they wouldn’t deserve it, or that Corvo wouldn’t get a twisted satisfaction from doing it all over again.  

But Jessamine was as ruthless as him and twice as clever.  She would absolutely ruin them, and she’d do it with a smile on her face if it meant protecting her family.

The only reason Burrows and the others had gotten the better of her before was because they’d struck too quickly for Jessamine to react. Corvo tended to attribute that more to Daud’s ruthless practicality than any strategy on the traitors’ part.

And there was the true threat. The issue of the Marked, of Daud and Delilah. Between their cunning and supernatural abilities, there was no possible way for the Empress to prepare against them. And  _this_  Daud had yet to experience true regret, to supposedly turn his back on killing altogether.

Just because Burrows and his group would be out of the picture, didn’t mean no one else would think to hire the Knife to take down the Empress. After all, there was no shortage of betrayal and murder in the imperial capital. So, Corvo would have to think of a way to discourage Daud and his Whalers from targeting the Empress while also investigating what in the Void Delilah had been plotting against the throne even all those years ago.

But then an idea sparked at the back of Corvo’s mind. It was brilliant, it was insane. The Serkonan nearly gave himself an aneurism just considering it. Surely something so deviously simple couldn’t possibly work?

But the more he considered it, the more the idea began to appeal to him. It would take a lot of spying and investigation – nothing he wasn’t already used to – but so long as he was cautious and patient…it could work.

Shit, but he was going to need a lot of coin to pull this off. Good thing he knew of several people who could stand to be relieved of their ill-gotten wealth. After all, they wouldn’t need it once they were languishing in the depths of Coldridge Prison or staring down the barrels of an imperial firing squad.


	3. Good ole' vigilantism

Corvo hadn’t planned to re-start his vigilante career like this, but he’d always been a sucker for poetic justice. And what could be more poetic than to start his exposure of crime and corruption among Dunwall’s elite on the anniversary of the day that his Jess was murdered? He liked to think Emily would have approved.

The Abbey of the Everyman was no more difficult to break into than it had been over a decade ago. In fact, it was much easier considering Campbell no longer had the City Watch under his thumb, prowling the halls like feral wolfhounds and snapping at every shadow they saw. No, all he had to contend with were overworked Overseers and the occasional security system.  They had maybe a single working music box between the lot of them.  It was almost shameful.

Of course, it also helped that Corvo wasn’t trying to abduct the High Overseer from under the Abbey’s very nose this time. Oh no, what Corvo was after this time was twofold. He was going to ransack the Abbey for everything they had that wasn’t nailed down - confiscated heretical artifacts included - and pay a nice visit to Campbell’s secret chamber. If there was any solid evidence lying around capable of convicting the man as he was now, it would be there.  Campbell liked his physical mementos, the sick fuck.

After making several trips through the building, scanning rooms with his Dark Vision and stashing his loot nearby for later retrieval, Corvo made his way to Campbell’s hidden rooms. While making his way down the stairs, the Serkonan was pleased to note that he hadn’t alerted a single guard so far, and that the three he’d had to subdue would later wake in each other’s arms where he’d carefully positioned them earlier. Not his best work, but he hadn’t had the time arrange them more scandalously before moving on. He’d do better next time.

Reaching the bust containing the secret switch to Campbell’s room, Corvo hesitated and activated his Dark Vision just in case. He hadn’t come so far to be caught out like a hot-headed idiot at the last second just because he was too lazy to case a room before he entered it. He had standards, curse it all.

Distantly, he heard his leather gloves creak as his hands clenched convulsively. A yellow figure was clearly highlighted in his vision. Somebody was in there.

It wasn’t Campbell, that much was obvious. The body was too slim and short to be mistaken for the barrel-chested High Overseer. He couldn’t see their line of sight either. Whoever was in there was either sleeping or dead. Unfortunately, Corvo knew enough of Campbell’s character to guess which one it was.

With trepidation heavy in his heart, Corvo pressed the switch in Holger’s eye and watched as the room was slowly revealed beyond the opening in the brick façade. He entered, footsteps measured and silent, approaching the body with care.

It was a girl. A girl not many years older than Emily had been that dreadful year, with coltish long limbs but just enough curve to her hips to pass for mature at a glance. Her clothes were ragged and worn, but practical, definitely not something worn by the girls at the Golden Cat. There was blood under her nails and a bruise blooming across half of her face, one eye nearly swollen shut. She couldn’t be more than fourteen.

If he hadn’t been well aware of the punishment Campbell would likely suffer under Jessamine’s sentencing, Corvo may well have tracked the man down and killed him, morals be damned. Corvo would dearly like to introduce the man to his rats – they were _ravenous_.

Corvo blinked and leaned closer to the girl, perplexed.  Had she just…moved?  He had just noticed the faint rise and fall of the waif’s chest (not dead, thank the Outsider) when startled brown eyes popped open, leaving the girl face-to-face with his mask. She shrieked in terror, hands scrabbling to push herself away from him while kicking out at every part of his body she could reach.  His ears rung unpleasantly, like a pistol had gone off right next to his head.

But the ringing in his ears didn’t stop Corvo from reacting.  He moved to subdue her quickly, pinning her arms under her body and covering her mouth with his hand. She immediately began to bite at him - not that it did much, what with the leather gloves and all - and he smiled grimly to himself at her ferocity. This one was a survivor.  Good.

He didn’t want to knock her out, but he couldn’t let her bring the guards down on their heads either. “Quiet,” he rasped, voice distinctly unamused.

Wide and panicked eyes locked on the lenses of his mask as her body went deathly still. He leaned back a little as he observed her for any tells that she would start struggling again. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he ground out gruffly, hand still firm over her mouth.

The claim was apparently ludicrous enough for the girl to abandon her terror in favor of gracing him with a narrow-eyed glare. Corvo studiously ignored her skepticism. “I’m going to let you up in a minute.  _Don’t scream_ ,” he ordered flatly, as he loosened his grip before removing it entirely and shuffling back a pace. The girl immediately shoved herself as far from him as possible, only stopping when there was a wall at her back. She stared up at him distrustfully from where she was crouched, awkwardly rubbing at the bruising on her wrists. He recognized the pattern of the marks.  Campbell must’ve been keeping her in shackles at some point. Corvo stoically swallowed past the rage smoldering in the back of his throat. Anger would not be welcome right now.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Corvo had a pretty good idea why she was here and based on the look he was getting she must have thought it pretty obvious too, but it never hurt to check.

“The fuck is it to ya?” She snarled at him, eyes still gleaming with fear.

Slowly, Corvo reached into his pouch and pulled out a vial with a familiar red tincture. He held it up thoughtfully as the girl stared at it covetously. “You talk, I give you this.” He brandished the restorative elixir enticingly.

The girl swallowed painfully, eyes glued to Sokolov’s remedy. Her injuries must have been more extensive than he thought if she was desperate enough to cooperate with so little prodding. “I – I’m a nobody, just gutter trash.” She stuttered past gritted teeth. “Got a job at the docks pretendin’ to be a boy. Someone found me out, accused me’a witchcraft. Next thing I know, the fuckin’ Overseers are haulin’ me in for questioning until some guy in a red coat decided I don’t need questinin’ no more. An’ then he brought me here for a tumble, only I didn’t want to and fought back an’ he knocked me out and then you were here. Now gimme the fuckin’ elixir.” She bared her teeth at him and thrust her hand out demandingly.

Corvo languidly handed the vial over and watched the girl down it like a shot. She barely even sneered at the vile taste. He was impressed.

“Stay there,” He ordered firmly. Then he got up and began investigating Campbell’s room properly, keeping his ears open for any movement from his unexpected guest.

There was no correspondence connecting Campbell to the murder of the Golden Cat’s prostitutes this time.  Now that Corvo thought of it, it was possible Campbell hadn’t become a regular of the brothel until his association with the Pendleton brothers.  However, there were plenty of documents implicating him in embezzling heavily from Abbey funds which would work just as well.  It might even be better this way.  Dunwall’s nobles cared far more about the misappropriation of funds than the rape and murder of their citizens. 

Corvo didn’t know how this city didn’t collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy.

Oh, and of course, Campbell had left his little book of blackmail right next to his stash of stolen heretical artifacts. Without his stolen secrets to hide behind, the High Overseer’s enemies would start coming out of the woodworks, eager for a chance at their former tormentor. Now, if he could just get this to Jessamine, Campbell would be finished and Corvo would be down a threat to worry about.

“Who are you?” The girl demanded quietly, hunched in on herself, false bravado coloring her voice. He’d almost forgotten she was there in his sullen musing.

Corvo glanced over his shoulder at the girl before turning back to his finds with a snort. “I’m nobody,” he echoed her previous answer back at her.

The girl’s ire was a near physical thing as she glared daggers at his back for the non-answer. He smirked. Kids were too easy to rile up.

Once Corvo had gathered the damning evidence he’d found and packed it away so he could carry it all, he turned to face the girl.  He cocked his head thoughtfully.  The waif flinched upon noticing the direction of his attention before squaring her shoulders and glaring back at him from underneath lank and choppy hair.  He’d known men three times her age who couldn’t stare down his mask with half as much courage.  She deserved better than this.

He was already going to get her out of here no matter what, but – what the hell, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m going to take down the High Overseer, the man who brought you here,” he stated bluntly, watching with private amusement as the girl’s eyes widened in shock and something very like bloodthirsty anticipation.

“I’ve got enough to take him down here,” he patted the pouch of incriminating documents strapped to his side, “but if you wanted to get in your own shot at him – would you want to testify against him? In the courts, I mean,” Corvo clarified as the girl stared at him in utter disbelief.

“Wait, so you’re not gonna kill ‘im?” She blurted out in incredulity.

Between the mask and the arsenal he had strapped on his body, Corvo could understand her confusion. “Hah. No,” he answered flatly. “Death would be too kind for a man like him. And I don’t kill when I don’t have to. Too much damn effort to scrub the blood off after.  No, I’m here to ruin him. You in or not?”

She frowned at him, frustration bleeding into her tone, “It don’t work like that. He’s the Overseer of Overseers, the courts ain’t gonna touch ‘im.”

His jaw clenched stubbornly under the mask. “They will. I’ll make sure of it,” Corvo swore grimly.

“Prove it,” The brat challenged mockingly.

Corvo’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Fine. Get on.” He turned his back to her and crouched down, waiting. When nothing happened, he turned his head to the girl impatiently. “Well?”

“Outsider’s eyes, you’re actually fuckin’ nuts,” The girl declared in awe. “What, you’re jus’ gonna walk outta here with me on your back?”

“How do you think I got in?” Corvo shot back in irritation. “ _Get on_.”

The brat let out a slightly hysterical giggle, but finally did as he asked. “You’re crazy,” she whispered wonderingly, more to herself than to him. He pointedly ignored her and grunted as he stood and took them to the door.

“Hold on tight, and whatever you do,  _stay quiet_.” He warned sternly. His only answer was the slight tightening of her grip.

And then he Blinked away.

* * *

 

Jessamine was rudely awoken from her much-needed sleep as Corvo leapt up and over her from his spot at her side and took up a defensive position, having grabbed the pistol she kept in easy reach on the nightstand. Panic burned through her sleep-muddled mind at the urgency of her Protector’s movements. Something was wrong.

Immediately sitting up and peering over her lover’s shoulder in the direction he was pointing the pistol, Jessamine quickly stifled a gasp of shock. It was Death, she thought faintly, gaze caught on smooth black bone and eerily misshapen grin.

At least, that was her first sleep-addled impression of their unexpected intruder. Upon closer inspection, it was clear he was only a man, albeit one in an excessively alarming mask. And she knew how to deal with men. The Empress quickly pulled together her not inconsiderable composure and stared into the empty eyes of the mask before them. The intruder hadn’t attacked yet, and was in fact carefully keeping his hands in view, away from his numerous visible weapons. Clearly, he wanted something from her, and it would only be polite to ask what it was before poor Corvo’s trigger finger got itchy.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Jessamine demanded as imperiously as she could manage while in her bedclothes with her hair tumbling down around her shoulders. Corvo shifted uneasily in front of her, aim unwavering from where it was trained on the intruder’s skull.

Enough time passed after she spoke for Jessamine to grow worried, though she was careful not to show it, before the masked man thankfully deigned to respond.

“I’m not very fond of rats,” the intruder began nonsensically in a surprisingly quiet and raspy voice, “and your court is practically teeming with them. I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

Jessamine’s eyes went to half-mast as she stared down her nose at empty eye sockets. “I have no use for assassins,” she warned lowly.

A rough laugh sent harsh shivers crawling up and down Jessamine’s spine. “No, you don’t.” the grotesquely grinning mask emanated amusement. “That’s not what I’m here to offer.”

The mask tilted downward, sending shadows dancing menacingly across the smooth black surface. “I’m here to offer proof, evidence of wrongdoing. In return, I only ask that you pursue the offenders to the full extent of your ability.”

Jessamine scoffed. “And you expect me to convict my people on your word alone? A stranger who won’t even show his face?”

“And a heretic.” The man added in unrepentant amusement. “But no,” he continued as Jessamine’s brows rose at the admission, “I fully expect you to carry out your own investigations. I only ask that you consider seriously whatever evidence I may bring you.”

For the first time that night, the man took on a more severe demeanor. Coupled with his deathly mask it was an intimidating combination. “The Isles are divided enough as it is, and the sickness in Dunwall is more serious than you yet realize. The people cannot afford to tolerate unlawful nobles right now – and neither can you.”

Jessamine watched as the muscles in Corvo’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. “Was that a threat?” Her Protector asked lowly, the first he’d spoken since the intruder arrived.

“A warning,” the intruder responded blithely.

“So you claim to do this out of the goodness of your heart?” Jessamine asked skeptically, casually steamrolling over Corvo’s increasing concern.

A sarcastic huff was her answer. “I wouldn’t turn down payment if you offered it. But I don’t require it either.”

Jessamine considered the shadowed figure thoughtfully. Whatever her decision was, she already knew Corvo would not be pleased. But it wasn’t every day that mysterious, non-hostile men were able to sneak into the chambers of the Empress without alerting the guards. Clearly, the masked man had some skill to boast of, perhaps even a hint of integrity if she was reading him right. She could use someone like that on her side.  And if he was reporting to her semi-regularly, she could keep a steady eye on him in the meanwhile.  At least until she had a better grasp of his motivations and whether or not he was a threat.

But that didn’t mean she was about to agree to this without setting terms. 

“And how would you propose to gather your evidence? I won’t condone the killing of guards or bystanders for you to get what you’re after.  For all I know, you could be chasing mere shadows and calling them assassins.” Even without his direct gaze, Jessamine could feel Corvo glaring at her for even considering taking this man’s offer. She smiled privately at his ire.

The man moved slowly, causing Corvo’s muscles to twitch dangerously, but he only reached for the pouch at his side and held it open towards her, revealing numerous documents and notebooks inside. He then carefully set it down in front of him and stepped back far enough for Corvo to lean forward and snatch it, bringing the bag to Jessamine for inspection.

“I paid a visit to the offices of the High Overseer earlier tonight.” The stranger admitted gruffly, casually, as if it wasn’t one of the second most well-guarded buildings in the Isles. Then again, it probably didn’t mean much to him, considering he was standing in the best protected building right now.  “Campbell was hiding some _interesting_ documents.”

It took only minutes for Jessamine to verify both the authenticity of the papers before her and the criminal activities recorded therein. And she hadn’t even made it a quarter of the way through the papers she’d been given. This was – more than concerning.

Face stony and unreadable, Jessamine turned her attention back to the macabre mask. “You have yourself a deal. I will investigate Thaddeus and bring him to justice. This is inexcusable.”

The figure nodded, satisfied. “Good. But there’s one more thing, if you’re serious about this.” Without warning, the stranger dissolved into shadow only to reappear seconds later, arm wrapped around the shoulders of a young girl. He let go and stepped back quickly, but was forced to reach back almost immediately to steady her with a hand on her shoulder.  The poor girl’s legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Jessamine’s courtly composure was the only thing that kept her from gaping like a fool at the casual display of supernatural ability. Corvo was not so lucky, and she watched with stifled amusement as his jaw dropped in open shock and astonishment, gun wavering for the first time that night.

“The High Overseer has committed many crimes over the years, and this girl is a witness and victim to a number of them. Keep her safe and have her checked over by a doctor. She can tell you more.” The girl in question continued to shake, wide eyes locked on Jessamine’s face in disbelief. Patting her on the back comfortingly, the man turned to Jessamine and vaguely tiled his head in a bow. “I’ll be waiting to see what you do with Campbell.” There was a faint rush of air, a burst of shadows, and he was gone.


	4. The Masked Felon

Daud was supervising the novices as they were put through their paces when the news broke. Thomas had hastily Transversed into the room, panting as though he’d run a great distance, a rumpled newspaper clutched in his hand.  Lurk wasn’t far behind him. Thomas wore a look of stunned disbelief while the corners of Lurk’s mouth were curled into a viciously satisfied smirk. The room went unnaturally still at their abrupt entrance.

Daud shot the gawking novices a stern glare. “Did I say you could stop?” He growled warningly. They quailed under his formidable gaze and immediately jumped back to their exercises. Daud turned his back on them as he approached his lieutenants and rolled his eyes in longsuffering fondness. The novices were practicing much quieter than they had before, no doubt straining to hear whatever Lurk and Thomas had to say.  He’d yet to meet worse gossips than assassins.  It was ridiculous.

“Report,” he rumbled intently, eyes narrowed and focused.

Thomas turned to Billie first, still slightly breathless, and shot her a sly grin. “You remember when his face used to be terrifying?” He motioned to Daud limply.

Billie mirrored his humor, bloodthirsty smirk gentling to something softer and almost warm. “Felt like the Outsider himself was staring right into your soul,” she echoed mock-solemnly, eyes crinkling at Daud’s expense.

Daud crossed his arms and lifted his face to the ceiling in supplication before turning a markedly less amused expression to his subordinates. “Report.  _Today_ ,” he insisted, vaguely threatening. One of the novices let out a quiet ‘eep,’ of alarm at his displeased tone. Lurk just snickered, the traitor.

Luckily, Daud’s darkening expression was enough to convince Thomas to get his act together and get down to business. The man straightened, face adopting a more serious expression. “Got a tipoff from an informant who works for the Dunwall Courier. Gave me an early copy of tomorrow’s edition, thought I’d appreciate the heads up. Take a look at the headlines.” Thomas clumsily unfolded the rumpled newspaper and held it out to Daud.

The paper crinkled noisily as the assassin grabbed it with his gloved hands. His brow furrowed in genuine surprise at what he saw. ‘High Overseer Arrested: Abbey Scrambling in the Aftermath.’ He felt the scar on his face pull taut as his face went rigid in disbelief. Quickly skimming down the front page revealed another unexpected headline, ‘Abbey of the Everyman: Moral Pillar of Society?’ Both articles contained scathing critiques of the Overseers and their moral hypocrisy, something that normally never would have made it past the publishing desk, let alone the fucking front page.

Still, the Abbey’s loss was their gain and Daud wasn’t a man to disregard an advantage when he saw one. The Abbey had been dogging his footsteps for years just waiting for the day the Whalers would slip up so they could swoop in for the kill.  Iit left a bitter taste in his mouth to think of all of the Whalers he’d lost to the Order over the years. It was nothing but good news to see the Overseers’ reputation dragged through the mud so thoroughly and publicly, they’d be too worried about damage control to go after him properly for months.  But Daud couldn’t help but be suspicious. There was always a catch, the glint of a blade in the dark waiting to stab him in the back – it was just how life worked for him. Idly skimming through rest of the paper, Daud felt a paranoid suspicion nagging at the back of his head.

“Good work Thomas, we should have a couple months grace period before the Abbey is back on their feet again. One less thing to worry about while on jobs for a while. Any word on how the High Bastard got himself arrested? Or any other notable activity in the past couple weeks?” He directed the questions at both of his lieutenants as he folded the paper and tucked it into his belt to browse carefully later.

Here Billie and Thomas shared a look before turning to Daud cautiously. “We think there might be some new competition in town,” Lurk confided in a low voice.

Thomas chimed in as Daud’s brows descended thunderously. “They’ve been keepin’ it pretty hush-hush what with all the shit they’re dealing with now, but the Abbey was apparently robbed two weeks back. It’d be all over the news now if it weren’t for Campbell.”

Billie nodded minutely. “No one saw anything and no one was killed, but whoever it was apparently took everything that wasn’t nailed down, including the Abbey’s stash of heretical artifacts.” Lurk’s eyes began to glint dangerously. “But the bastard had to make a profit somehow. I asked around and the thief’s apparently been pawning his goods off to the usual fences, and I got a description from a few of them. He’s a smart guy whoever he is, wears a mask to hide his face so that won’t get us anywhere.”

“And there’s been no other word on him?” Daud asked.

Thomas shook his head in frustration. “Nothing but rumors. But you have to admit, it’s pretty suspicious for the High Overseer to be arrested barely a week after that mass robbery.”

Daud folded his arms and frowned, but Lurk had known him long enough by now not to miss the contemplative gleam in his eye. “No – don’t even think about it, Daud,” she warned him off sternly.

“Think about what?” His mouth twisted in petulant irritation, his scar pulling his mouth into a half-snarl.

“I know you, old man, and I’ve seen that face before. Every time you get that look you come back with another stray to take in. And you can’t recruit this one, I don’t care how impressive he seems.”

Something in her tone had Daud standing straighter as he brought the brunt of his attention to bear on his apprentice. “And why’s that, Lurk? What else do you know?”

Billie’s lips thinned. “I told you he’s been selling his goods off to the fences, and that’s half true. But there haven’t been any black magic artifacts flooding the markets lately, and no one else has been talking about any popping up.”

“Which means our thief is keeping them, probably using them,” Thomas concluded grimly.

“And if he’s actually using them, he probably has the Mark.” Daud’s face went carefully blank, scar stark on his face.

“Hey, we don’t know that for sure.  Maybe he’s just an idiot.  In a couple weeks, we’ll probably find him raving and writing on the walls in his own blood.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.”  Thomas argued weakly.

Daud pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed noisily. “You’re right.  We don’t know for certain whether or not he has the Mark. But I still don’t like him stirring up so much trouble. It’ll only bring more attention to the criminal faction of Dunwall, which will bring more attention to us.  Something I’d like to avoid while the Overseers are temporarily out of the picture.  Void, is it too much to ask for one fucking break?”

“What do you have in mind, then?” Billie asked curiously.

Daud exhaled and let his arms fall to sides, one resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword. “See if you and the others can’t bring him in –  _not_  to recruit him,” Daud shot a pointed look at Billie who’d been about to speak up, “not yet anyway, not until we know more about him. I want to ask him his motivations, why he’s come to Dunwall all of a sudden.  See if he visits the Void in his dreams.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“What if he isn’t friendly?” Thomas asked with suspiciously innocent eyes.

Daud went to cuff the man by the back of the head for impertinence, only for Thomas to skip out of reach with a quiet laugh, eyes dancing wickedly. Daud’s narrowed gaze promised retribution at a later date, as he relaxed back into an easy stance. “Our  _friend_  has pissed off a lot of people in a very short amount of time, Thomas. If he’s not agreeable to our terms, we’ll just turn him over for his bounty, which I’m sure the Abbey has already posted?”

Lurk nodded in affirmation at his inquiry. “The Abbey’s been doing their own digging on our thief. They know about as much as we do and have offered a significant sum for information leading to his identification and capture.”

Daud nodded decisively. “Have Misha draw up his mask based on the descriptions you’ve collected and spread word to the rest of the Whalers to be on the lookout for him. I’d like to have a  _talk_  with our new resident thief. What’s the name listed on the bounty?”

Lurk’s lips pursed unhappily while Thomas tried and failed to suppress a small smirk. Billie murmured something unintelligible, causing Thomas’ shoulders to begin shaking with badly suppressed laughter. Daud could feel his temper beginning to fray.

“Louder, Lurk.” Daud’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened in irritation. The leather grip creaked ominously in his hand.

“They’re calling him the Masked Felon,” Lurk sighed mutinously.

“So original!” Thomas choked at Daud’s now deadpan expression.

Dismissing his lieutenants and their antics with a wave, Daud turned on his heel and strode back to the novices who were desperately trying to pretend they hadn’t been listening in on the whole conversation. “I fucking hate journalists,” The Knife muttered bitterly under his breath.

* * *

 

Corvo perused the day’s headlines with relish, a grin slashing across his grizzled face at the petty jabs the Courier made at the Abbey. Looked like his hunch had been correct. Jessamine certainly hadn’t wasted any time going after Campbell.

However, Jessamine’s unhesitating pursuit of conviction did add a slight wrinkle to Corvo’s plans. He remembered how eager the public had been to crucify Emily with the emergence of the Crown Killer – how quick they’d been to place the blame on her shoulders when her high profile opponents began falling like dominoes. True, Jessamine wasn’t killing or horrifically desecrating any bodies, but it didn’t change the fact that all of the people Corvo planned to expose were well known for their outspoken dislike of the Empress. And if he and Jessamine went after them all at the same time, Corvo had no doubt her remaining critics would paint the Empress’ efforts at cleaning house as a tyrannical coup of the court. No, Corvo would have to wait to go after his next target, at least until the scandal of the High Overseer’s abrupt arrest had died down. He was not going to risk bringing down the formidable and fickle wrath of the public on Jessamine because of his impatience.

Taking time between targets did have the unfortunate consequence of stalling Corvo’s plans regarding the Outsider’s Marked, but until either the Whalers or Delilah’s coven decided to make themselves a more immediate threat to the Empress and her family, the Serkonan was willing to wait before acting. Much as his instincts screamed at him otherwise, Corvo had time on his side.  For once.

However, there was nothing to stop him from paying another quick visit to Dunwall Tower to check in on his unofficial charges. If Jessamine really was willing to work with him, and Campbell’s speedy arrest certainly seemed to indicate yes. then it would only help to try and collaborate their efforts. Maybe he’d even get the chance to see the Royal Protector get his hackles up again.  Corvo was surprised at how easy and fun it was to rile up his younger self, he could see why Jessamine had enjoyed it so much now.

Decision made, Corvo cautiously made his way from the inaccessible apartment floor he’d made his home and donned his mask before Blinking his across the rooftops to Dunwall Tower. Most of the City Watch appeared especially distracted today, considering a full half of the conversation he managed to overhear seemed to be focused on the High Overseer’s corruption and other associated gossip. It irked him to see the city’s security so lax – sure, it made Corvo’s job easier, but the same could be said for any other sneak with a measure of skill and very few would have intentions as benign as his own.

Regardless of his own personal misgivings, Corvo made it to the Tower unmolested and quickly navigated his way to where he remembered Jessamine kept her private offices where she reviewed important information passed on to her by advisors and informants alike. If he was right, she’d be there now and most likely alone aside from the Royal Protector.

Upon Blinking into an adjacent room and activating his Dark Vision, Corvo was irritated to note four figures in the room instead of his anticipated two. Said frustration bled away like water through a sieve when he took the time to notice a distinctly childlike figure among the taller adults.

_Emily_.

Corvo crouched on top of a tall shelf, staring down at the small yellow figure through the wall for what felt like hours as she puttered around the room, flitting between the three others intermittently. His heart nearly stopped when she briefly paused below where he was perched, idly perusing what appeared to be books on her side of the wall.  _So close_ , Corvo thought with wistfulness so strong it burned. He could almost reach out and touch her if the wall wasn’t there between them.

But the moment broke as she was called away by the guards at the door. It must have been time for her lessons then. Corvo tracked her with his Vision until he couldn’t see her anymore, then reigned himself in with a tired sigh.

Right, he came here for a reason.

Carefully making his way to the open arched window on top of the door to Jessamine’s office - he really ought to warn her to bar them shut - Corvo peered over the edge to gauge the identity of the third person in the room. Despite the now clean and well-made clothes plus the much more well-groomed appearance, Corvo was pleased to recognize the girl he’d stolen from Campbell’s clutches. Based on her uniform and rigidly attentive stance, it looked like they’d hired the girl on to be trained as an imperial guard. She must have been apprenticing under the younger Corvo, if she was actually allowed into the room with Jessamine herself.

Corvo couldn’t help it as he felt a helplessly fond smile steal over his face under the mask. That was definitely something his Jess would do.  If the courts wouldn’t accept the testimony of a common girl, well, then Jess would just have to make sure that the girl was someone worth listening to.  An imperial guard’s testimony would certainly carry more weight than that of a commoner’s, much as it rankled him to admit.

And if keeping the girl close to the younger Corvo had the added bonus of protecting her from any of Campbell’s lingering agents, well, that was just an unexpected bonus.

Satisfied with the identity of his audience, Corvo took the opportunity to Blink into the room and immediately found himself at the business end of two pistols and a sword.

He barked a shameless laugh and ruefully put his hands in the air. Shallowly dipping his head he addressed the three. “Empress, Lord Protector – brat,” he shot the last one at the scowling girl over Jessamine’s shoulder, “I hear you’ve all been busy.”


	5. Close encounters

The Empress was the first to recover from his abrupt appearance and put down her weapon though he was pleased to note that she placed the pistol within easy reach on her desk.  She graced him with a polite and borderline friendly expression. “I must admit, your counsel was much more enlightening than I’d anticipated. I give you my thanks for bringing the urgent matter of the High Overseer to my attention despite the risk to yourself.”

The others finally stood down at a subtle hand sign from Jessamine, though the girl responded with much more reluctance, gaze wary where it was locked on Corvo’s mask. She had good instincts, he mused approvingly.

Folding her hands primly, Jessamine continued, “Since you’re here, there are a few matters I’d like to revisit regarding our previous meeting. For starters, a name.” Her brow rose imperiously at his unabashed snort. “A call-sign will do well enough of course – I am not unfamiliar with the purpose behind wearing a mask. I’d simply prefer something to call you aside from the Masked Felon.” Her eyes rolled in longsuffering restraint at the ridiculous title before focusing on him again.

“Well?” She inquired smoothly.

Corvo faltered a moment, not having foreseen the need for a pseudonym. It was a reasonable request and probably something he should have considered sooner. He’d never been the best at naming things, and his skill at improvisation was limited strictly to stealth and combat.  It was something both Jess and eventually Emily had relentlessly teased him for.

“Call me Crow,” Corvo offered gruffly with an internal wince, folding his arms uncomfortably. It was quite possibly the most unsubtle and unoriginal choice he could have gone with, but it was too late to take it back now.  It was still leagues better than ‘the Masked Felon.’

“Crow it is,” Jessamine acquiesced with a regal dip of her head. “Upon assessing the usefulness of your previous intel, I’ve decided to hire you on as something of an unofficial consultant to the Crown. If you’re amenable, that is?” She added with a questioning lilt.

Her Royal Protector released a sigh of wounded indignation. “Oh hush you,” she flapped a hand at him dismissively, eyes still fixed on Crow, “you know as well as I do how little heresy matters outside of the Abbey, and what they don’t know won’t hurt us.”

The young Protector growled in irritation, stance still hostile and wary. “You know as well as I do that that’s not the issue. He’s an unknown and clearly dangerous – ”

“But not to you,” Crow interrupted patiently. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed from your lofty little tower, but Dunwall is in shambles and it’s only getting worse.” He gestured to their trainee who tensed in apprehension at his attention. “The brat knows what I mean, she was on the streets herself barely two weeks ago. It’s a madhouse out there, and the only person keeping it all from turning into sheer chaos is you.” He waved toward Jessamine.

The Royal Protector bristled at the familiarity with which Crow addressed his charge, but found himself interrupted before he could continue. “He’s right, you know,” the girl piped up quietly, hands clasped behind her back to hide how they shook at her bold interruption. “Beggin’ your pardon Majesty, but the guards have started leavin’ bodies in the streets ‘cause there’s too many to bury or burn. It’s a tossup whether hunger or the gangs’ll kill you, an’ that’s only if the sickness don’t get you first. The people love you for your kindness, Your Highness, but you’re the only one who cares about us and it’s not enough, if you’ll forgive my sayin’ so.”

Here the girl turned to Crow, a petulant glare on her pale face. “An’ stop callin’ me brat! My name is Alexi.”

Crow tilted his head at her in consideration before giving a small nod of acceptance.

“I’d like to hear more of this later if you don’t mind Alexi.” Jessamine chimed in, face grim and lined with a deep exhaustion she rarely showed. “I – had no idea things had gotten so bad. I suspect I’ll need to consult with some of my advisors. Soon.” Her eyes flashed with well-concealed rage before she turned a milder expression back to her Protector. “Anyway, if you’re quite done harassing our guest?”

The Royal Protector huffed, but backed down at the warning in her tone. “Good. So Crow, I’ll ask again. Would you be willing to unofficially consult with me regarding the status of Dunwall and its nobles? I’d be willing to pay you on a case-to-case basis. Two thousand coins for every person of interest you bring to my attention – with credible evidence to back your claims, mind. There is also the possibility for compensatory bonuses depending on the circumstances of each case.”

Crow rasped a rough laugh, his amusement echoed by his grotesquely grinning mask. “You’re something else, Your Highness. We have a deal.” And with a firm handshake, his unofficial employment to the Empress was established.

* * *

 

Corvo eventually left Dunwall Tower over two thousand coins closer to his goal and a spark of hope in his heart despite the dreary drizzle outside. Over the years, he’d forgotten just how headstrong and cutthroat Jessamine had been regarding the well-being of her subjects. He still couldn’t believe she’d willingly hired  _him_ , a blatant heretic and borderline witch, to investigate matters of the Crown. Even away from the growing unease suffocating the streets of Dunwall, it was clear she knew something was seriously wrong and that drastic measures needed to be taken. He did not envy his younger self the task of guarding the reckless and bullheaded Empress.

And then there was Alexi.

With everything else going on, it’d slipped his mind that she’d be here – alive. He’d still barely come to terms with her death as it was, she’d been such a constant and steady presence in his and Emily’s life for so long now.  She’d been more than a guard, a confidant, or a friend – she’d been  _family_. It tore at something deep inside of him to imagine clever and stoic Alexi cut down in her prime (just like Jessamine, a traitorous voice whispered in his head).

And now it turned out he’d saved her, brought her under the care and protection of the Crown before Corvo had even recognized who she was. Seeing Alexi, young, healthy,  _alive_  – it helped to soothe the near constant ache in his heart.

As he made his way above the streets of Dunwall, a feeling of unease crawled up Corvo’s spine. It was nothing overt - a strange blur at the corner of his eye between Blinks, the sound of a shifting rooftop tile nearby - but it was enough to get his proverbial hackles up and have him speed through the next several Blinks before taking cover behind the half-collapsed wall of a crumbling building and activating his Dark Vision. He idly reached for one of Piero’s restoratives as he kept his eyes peeled for the slightest movement.

There was nothing there. And why would there be? He was up on the damn roof! Emily had been right, he really was just a paranoid old bastard.

But before Corvo could finish silently berating himself, three bright yellow figures appeared out of thin air and he felt his heart freeze for a breathless moment before restarting in a frantic tempo. There was only one group he knew who wore those awful masks.

_Whalers_.

* * *

 

“Why is it always raining when you take me out on these supply runs?” Rulfio whined piteously as he made his way through Dunwall, gray uniform slick with water.

Thomas absentmindedly wondered what their enemies would think if they knew the average Whaler had about as much tolerance for rain as your standard housecat. He snorted ruefully. As if Daud would let anything as trivial as personal preferences prevent their group from doing their job. “We’ve been over this before, Rulfio. Not everything is about you, princess.”

Quinn sniggered at Rulfio’s expense as the Whaler adopted a mock-offended posture. “Just because you’ve contented yourself with this leaky gutter of a city doesn’t mean I have to. Have you ever been to Serkonos, Thomas? It has these wonderful things called  _sunlight_  and  _warmth_. You should try it sometime.”

“Yeah, no, I think I’ll take the rats and weepers over your Void-forsaken bloodflies.” Quinn gave an exaggerated shudder before vigorously rubbing her arms. “Those things give me the fucking creeps, I can’t stand ‘em.”

Rulfio scoffed scathingly through his mask. “Yes, because the  _scary bugs_  are so much worse than  _deadly, plague-ridden vermin and weepers_  – ” He was cut off as Thomas lifted a hand tersely, posture suddenly still and focused. Rulfio and Quinn followed suit, unsuccessfully trying to determine what had caught their superior’s attention. Thomas quickly made the hand signs for  _target_ ,  _uncertain_ ,  _quiet_  and  _follow_  before Transversing away over the rooftops, the others not far behind him.

Thomas could just barely make out a blurry figure in the rain as it blinked in and out of existence before he lost it completely in one of Dunwall’s more obviously dilapidated districts. The Whaler hadn’t been able to get a clear glimpse of the target, but he could tell from the silhouette that whoever it was wasn’t wearing their uniform. And Thomas recognized a Transversal when he saw it.

If Thomas were a betting man, he’d have put significant odds on the mysterious figure wearing a skull-like mask. Looked like Lurk was right – another of the Outsider’s Marked had come to Dunwall.  Joy.

Regardless of who they’d been chasing, they were probably long gone now – especially with the speed they’d been moving at. But it never hurt to be careful – Thomas wouldn’t have made it as long as he had under the Whalers if it were otherwise. “Fan out and check the area.” He ordered softly. Between one blink and the next, Thomas was alone on the roof. Then he went about his own investigation.

As expected, they found nothing, though Thomas had had the delightful experience of encountering one of the aggressive rat swarms that plagued the citizens of Dunwall. He’d been very quick to make his escape from that particular deathtrap. Neither of the others had had anything of note to report, so Thomas reluctantly gave the all clear, allowing his subordinates to relax. He still couldn’t help the niggling feeling that he’d missed something…

“What the hell was that, Thomas?” Rulfio exclaimed aloud now that they’d checked the area. Quinn tilted her head inquisitively, Thomas’ dark blue coat reflected in the lenses of her mask.

“I’m not quite certain,” Thomas sounded out cautiously, “but I think I might’ve spotted our infamous Masked Felon. Just for a second, but there was definitely someone there.” His eyes narrowed in frustration behind his mask.

“Well, whoever it was had to’ve had the Mark to get away from us. No one else would’ve been able to move quick enough. That’ll be fun to report back to Daud.” Rulfio grumbled sourly.

Quinn let out a groan of dismay at the prospect. “Fuck, but that’ll put ‘im in a right snit.” She groused mournfully. “I can already feel the bruises he’s gonna give my bruises next time in training. Ugh, I knew that skull-faced bastard was gonna be trouble.”

“And why, exactly, are the infamous Whalers so interested in my business?” An unfamiliar voice rasped from behind them irritably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaler Ranks
> 
> Leaders - dark red/red  
> Master Assassins - dark blue  
> Novices - gray


	6. An accord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a new scene at the end of the chapter.

THERE IS NOW FANART OF THIS CHAPTER AND IT'S PERFECT, YOU HAVE TO CHECK IT OOOOOOOOUT!!!

Credit to [seryphsystem (Slie)](https://twitter.com/seryphi/status/961002922464174083)

* * *

 

Thomas turned and shot at the figure (where the fuck had he even come from?!) before the voice had even finished speaking while the others instinctively Transversed away to surround their unexpected eavesdropper. When the new arrival failed to so much as flinch at the hostile response, Thomas warily signed for his subordinates to standby, taking the time to analyze the newcomer.

His mask, Thomas was uneasy to note, looked much more intimidating in person. Especially when the wearer in question was casually holding and examining the bolt Thomas had instinctively shot at him. Had he...caught it?

“Good aim,” the man praised flatly, unnerving mask giving nothing away as he mockingly pocketed the bolt. “Not good enough, but that’s not your fault. Now, if you’re done shooting at me, I’ll ask again. What business do the Whalers have with me?”

“Not quite sure yet,” Thomas answered lightly, hoping his tone hid the still frantic tempo of his heart.  He hadn’t let an enemy sneak up on him like that in years, Daud was going to have them practicing stealth drills for  _weeks_.

“Boss hasn’t made up his mind,” he continued with a careless shrug.

The Felon stared him down in incredulous silence while his subordinates watched on warily, masks inscrutable. “The Knife doesn’t particularly strike me as an indecisive man.” The gruff voice was unamused and sardonic.

“He’s not,” Thomas drawled carefully, “but he doesn’t act on incomplete information either. The boss wants a word with you about a situation that’s come up. It’s in your best interest if you come with us quietly.”

“Daud wants a word with me?” The mask did little to muffle the ensuing sigh of irritated incredulity.  Thomas didn’t think he’d ever heard Daud’s name spoken outside of the Whalers with so little fear or reverence. “Of fucking course he does. I knew things were going too well.”

Thomas slowly flexed his hands, ready to call on his abilities at a moment's notice. Based on the Masked Felon’s attitude, he did not see this encounter ending smoothly.

“Fuck it, why not? I’ll see what the Knife has to say.” The Felon agreed with bad grace.

Thomas faltered a moment at the easy acquiescence before scrambling to recover his wits. “Oh – uh, yes. Right. Glad you could see sense.” He knew Rulfio would be laughing at how Thomas was fumbling right now if the man wasn’t so bewildered himself. Quinn has no such issue judging by how her shoulders were shaking imperceptibly beneath her coat. Forcibly disregarding the absurdity of the situation at hand – he couldn’t think of a single target that had _ever_ agreed to cooperate just because he’d asked - Thomas wrenched his focus back on task. He could afford to recount the strangeness of the situation later, when he wasn’t confronting a clearly dangerous and possibly unhinged man with nothing but a couple of novices.

“Quinn, get his weapons and search him thorough. You can have your things back when we let you leave.” He told the ghoulish specter, tone uncompromising.

“ _If_ Daud lets me leave, you mean. I’m well aware of your group’s bloody reputation.” The Felon corrected with dry humor as Quinn methodically patted him down.

Thomas could only shrug in sheepish agreement.

They all looked up at Quinn’s gasp.  She was peering into the satchel she’d confiscated from the Felon, and Thomas could practically _see_ her gaping like an idiot even with the mask.

“What is it, Quinn?”  Thomas moved closer for a look.

“Uh, um – well,” she stuttered.  Then Thomas got an eyeful and it was his turn to gape, Rulfio not far behind him.

“I’ll know if any of that goes missing,” the Felon warned, amused.  Like he wasn’t a man carrying a fucking fortune in coins surrounded by a posse of assassins _who killed people for money_.

“Can I ask…how?” Rulfio asked weakly.  Thomas woodenly took the satchel from Quinn, closed it, and shouldered it over his coat to free her hands.

“Yeah,” the Felon responded.

“… _How_?”  Rulfio demanded incredulously.

“None of your damn business,” the Felon answered with almost sadistic satisfaction.

Rulfio looked to Thomas and he could just tell that his pitiful subordinate was only barely resisting the urge to strangle someone.  Thomas could not _wait_ to see what Daud made of their Felon.  He gave it half odds that one of them would set the other off.

Thomas knew that if Daud deemed the Masked Felon to be too much of a threat he’d have no compunctions about killing the man, though personally the Whaler rather doubted it would come to that. So far, the Felon had given no signs of harboring hostile or malicious intent towards any of them – honestly, he was acting more like a longsuffering but indulgent relative than anything else to the bemusement and dismay of Thomas’ already wounded ego.

And on top of being relatively friendly – whatever that even meant in Dunwall anymore – the Felon was an oddity, an unknown in every sense of the word. He was a skilled man of unknown origins and motivations and apparently one of the Marked, among other things. Thomas was more than familiar enough with Daud’s fascination for all things strange and complex to know that the Felon would catch his interest.

He was sure Daud would also be eager to learn _where the fuck_ the Felon found that much coin.  It can’t have all been from the Abbey – it just couldn’t.

Thomas snapped back to attention as the man jerked away from Quinn’s outstretched hands. “The mask stays,” he rumbled warningly.

Quinn glanced back to Thomas inquiringly. He gave a slight nod in answer. “For now,” the Whaler allowed cautiously. “Gonna make breathing a little difficult for this next part though,” he warned, pulling out a dark hood and holding it out for inspection. “Can’t have you knowing where we’re headed.”

Once again, all the action garnered was a mild huff of irritation. “Paranoid bastards,” the Felon muttered resentfully as the covering was pulled over his head, effectively cutting off his sight.

“You’ve kind of cooperated, so we’ll let you keep your hands free for now. Try not to do anything stupid,” Thomas advised drolly.  He was almost positive he heard a muffled, ‘too late,’ in response. Firmly grasping the Felon by the shoulder, Thomas took off in a series of Transversals that would bring them back to the Flooded District.

* * *

 

Corvo couldn’t say what exactly it was that had him agreeing to go along with the Whalers. Curiosity was definitely a factor, he’d always had a bad habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong: a trait that had benefitted him greatly during his time as Emily’s spymaster. Another part was petty spite and satisfaction from knowing he’d completely blindsided the unreadable assassins with both his unexpected appearance and compliance – Corvo had never quite forgotten (or forgiven) how easily the Whalers had first caught him unaware all those years ago. It was incredibly cathartic having the situation reversed – now Corvo held all the cards while the Whalers floundered around him in uncertainty and wariness.

In the end, the deciding factor had been Daud. Corvo knew that the leader of the Whalers was not someone whose attention he could safely afford. If there was one thing Corvo had ever admired about the Whalers, it was their aptitude for fulfilling whatever task was given to them. And if Daud had given the order to bring him in, well – Corvo imagined he would’ve been brought up before the man sooner or later. Better sooner while it was still mostly on his own terms (though he deeply resented the hood considering he was already well aware of where the Whalers made their home – not that his captors needed to know that).

Besides, if things started to go south he could always escape easily enough. The Whalers were assassins, not jailers – he still remembered the flimsy, vermin-ridden pit they’d thrown him into when they’d captured him the first go-round. They’d been woefully unprepared to keep  _any_  prisoners, let alone one bearing the Outsider’s Mark. He sincerely doubted that had changed. 

And if they attacked him first, well…Corvo didn’t need his weapons to be dangerous.

When the Whaler holding him finally stopped Blinking, there was a moment of silence before they were assaulted by a cacophony of intrusive questions and badgering. Ignoring the crowd with the ease of long practice, the Whaler at his shoulder shifted slightly, tugging Corvo some distance away from the people and the noise until he was made to sit in a chair and told to stay. Dark Vision activated, the Serkonan did as he was told and waited for company. By the time someone finally came around to remove the hood from his head, he’d determined himself to be in the line of sight of at least four different Whalers spread out around the room.

Then he blinked the Vision away to find himself mask-to-face with a man he hadn’t seen outside of wanted posters for over a decade. Daud, the infamous Knife of Dunwall.

His was not a face Corvo had ever forgotten.

Feeling excessively grateful for the mask hiding whatever expression was twisting his face, Corvo watched as the assassin tucked away the hood while considering him shrewdly. Seeing the red-cloaked Whaler, young, familiar blade tucked at his side (left in regret but the blood already spilled and too late, too late,  _you cannot save her_ )…  Jarring was not a strong enough word for how Corvo felt.

“Not many people have the nerve to challenge the Overseers in their own home,” the Knife rasped bluntly, gloved hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “Even less of those have the skill to get away with it. You’re a dangerous man, Felon.” Daud declared, a mocking lilt to his tone.

Corvo almost laughed aloud at the hypocrisy of that statement. As if Daud himself wasn’t one of the most dangerous individuals Corvo had ever met. He awkwardly covered up the response with a cough, though judging by the man’s slightly raised brow he’d only been partially successful. Corvo’s black humor drained away at the sight of that scarred face.

Staring balefully from behind dull lenses, Corvo finally addressed Jessamine’s once and potentially future killer. “Call me Crow. I can’t take you people seriously when you use the Abbey’s ridiculous title. ‘The Masked Felon’ – honestly.” Corvo huffed in exasperation, just barely maintaining enough self-control to keep from rolling his eyes. Out of everything, he still couldn’t believe  _that_  name was the one that followed him to the past.

Daud’s other brow had risen to join its twin before his expression reverted back to neutral. “I notice you didn’t deny anything,” he observed with bland patience.

Corvo shrugged noncommittally. “Don’t see the point. It’s mostly true,” he responded unhelpfully.

Daud nodded, eyeing Corvo flatly. “But that’s not all there is either. I know a great deal,  _Crow_. I know about the one who talks to you in the dark – the one who appears when you visit the shrines. He gave me a gift some time ago. I suspect he did the same for you.” Daud deliberately allowed his gaze to drop to Corvo’s gloved hands before flicking them back to his mask.

Corvo’s eyes narrowed as he huffed, unimpressed. He stripped the glove from his left hand, holding it up so that the back faced Daud.  “It’s not exactly something I was hiding. Your men deduced as much before bringing me here.” 

The assassin tilted his head, eyes glittering dangerously. “So they did. But the Mark isn’t what concerns me – it’s  _you_.” Daud began pacing, steps slow and methodical, shark-like gaze never leaving Corvo. “He doesn’t pick us at random, Crow. He Marks us as vessels of chaos, of change.” The assassin walked around until he was looming at Corvo’s vulnerable back. “And after the mess you made of the Abbey, I can’t help but wonder what more you plan to do here in Dunwall before you’re finished,” Daud rumbled menacingly.

A beat passed in silence as Corvo deliberated over the Knife’s concerns and accusations. His eventual response was soft, but unshakeable. “I’m going to fix it.”

Daud scoffed dismissively at his back, “Bold statement from a simple thief.”

“Yes, and I’m sure the former High Overseer would’ve agreed with you.” Corvo shot back smugly. Daud stilled behind him.

“So that  _was_  you,” the assassin murmured thoughtfully.

Corvo shrugged indifferently. “The people are dying,” he continued quietly, “and no one is doing anything about it.”

A hint of anger entered his tone. “The Empress tries, but her court is corrupt and blocking her at every turn. The Abbey only cares about hunting down heretics whether they’re guilty or not. Dunwall’s people aren’t strong enough to stand up for themselves and demand better – the increased class gap has seen to that. And while everyone is sitting around twiddling their thumbs, the rats breed and the plague spreads. Dunwall is rotting from the inside.” His hands sluggishly curled into fists as his frustration grew.

“Surely you’ve noticed?” He hissed.

Daud ambled his way back into Corvo’s line of sight, expression tight and pensive. “We’ve noticed,” the assassin cautiously acknowledged.

“Are you going stop me?” Corvo asked lowly.

Daud stared back levelly. “That depends. Is your little crusade going to interfere with my people?”

“So long as you leave the Kaldwins and their Protector alone, no. I’ve no interest in your group.” Corvo ground out reluctantly.

After a long moment, Daud dipped his head in reluctant agreement. “Very well. So long as you leave me and mine alone, we won’t interfere.”

Corvo abruptly stood up and strode forward before sticking his hand out to the recalcitrant assassin. He stoically ignored the skyrocketing tension from the other Whalers in the room at his sudden movement. “Agreed.”

Daud hesitated only a moment before briskly clasping his offered hand. “Agreed,” he echoed darkly.

* * *

 

Later that night, long after Crow had gone and Daud had finally stolen a moment of rest for himself, the assassin jerked awake to a sight he hadn’t seen for years.

The Void.

Mesmerizing swirls of blue and violet bled across what should’ve been Dunwall’s dreary, smog-covered skyline while the melodies of leviathans reverberated in his bones, calling to something inside of him Daud had thought long buried. The Outsider was near.

With trepidation shivering up his spine, Daud heaved himself up from the bed and ventured further into the abyss, past the familiar wooden planks of the old Chamber of Commerce until he was surrounded by nothing but the jagged and uneven islets of the Void. Shadows writhed across the ground as he reached the last isle in sight, coalescing into a well-known figure. The black-eyed bastard hadn’t changed a bit since Daud had last seen him over a decade ago.

As for why he’d deigned to show up now, Daud could take a wild guess.

“Daud, my old friend, it’s been a long while.”

The assassin bared his teeth distastefully. “Not nearly long enough.”

The deity showed no outward reaction, but Daud could sense his cruel amusement regardless. “You’re right about why I’m here, of course. Our elusive Crow is quite the fascinating character.”

Thinking back to the restrained fervor hidden behind gruffly spoken words, a skull-faced specter with empty eyes, Daud couldn’t bring himself to muffle a scornful snort. “I suppose that’s one word for it,” Daud muttered sardonically.

Here the Outsider’s voice took on an almost chiding tone in response to Daud’s caustic dismissal. “You treated him with a surprisingly soft touch considering the blood on your hands. Why is that, I wonder?”

“What are you trying to insinuate?” Daud growled in irritation.

As usual, his question was ignored. Thoughtfully, the Outsider continued to speak. “When I gave you my Mark, you were desperate, destitute. All you had to your name was your hard-won freedom and the knife you’d used to earn it. You created the Whalers for profit, but that wasn’t your only motivation. Once, you too desired to cleanse this city: just like our obstinate Crow. You wanted to be more than the weapon they made you.  When did you lose that passion, old friend?”

The assassin snarled, but held his tongue.

“Did you know that there are only eight like you in the world, bearing my Mark? I don’t choose you lightly – and your story is yet unfinished. You’ve got my interest again, Daud. I will be watching…with unusual attention.”

Once again, Daud snapped awake, the ever-present stench of the sewer in his nose. He cursed creatively and pinched the bridge of his nose in despair. Change was on the horizon, and the Knife was not looking forward to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification, here's the Dishonored calendar.
> 
> 1\. Earth 2. Harvest 3. Nets 4. Rain 5. Wind 6. Darkness 7. High Cold 8. Ice 9. Hearths 10. Seeds 11. Timber 12. Clans 13. Songs


End file.
